


the man can't even speak without me turning it into smut

by CarpoMetaCarpal (VoltageInside)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, everything i touch turns to porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6888922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoltageInside/pseuds/CarpoMetaCarpal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hancock x f!sole survivor, on some comments he makes when you idle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the man can't even speak without me turning it into smut

Hancock felt the skin on the back of his neck tingle. It was a weird feeling, one that warned him that someone was watching him.

He’d finally agreed to start travelling with the vault dweller, and it’d been about a week for them. Sometimes he’d turn to say something, just to catch her head turning away at the last second. 

At first, he chalked it up to her not being used to being close to a ghoul. At least, not this close, for this long. But after a week, it wasn’t necessarily staring at him. Sometimes she’d stare at his face, or at his feet, or just space out watching him. 

This time, they were relaxing at a campfire in the night. He turned his head to her, but she was completely spaced. She was staring at him, but it was more at his crouched body, eyes glazed over and resting on his torso.

“Y’alright?” He finally asked, shifting his bandolier uncomfortably. She didn’t respond for a bit, and he chewed his lip.

She shook her head, coming back to earth. “Huh?”

He chuckled. “Looks like my dazzling personality got another one,” he remarked, and she grinned half-heartedly. She rolled onto her side, away from him, and went to sleep. He, however, could not. 

-

The next time, he decided he’d call her out. 

They were walking back from some settlement Preston had shipped them off to. Mutants had been terrorizing them, but they wiped them out quick. 

“Hancock,” she called out softly. He froze in his tracks, but only turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. 

“Mmn?”

“I, uh…” She scratched her neck. “I’m gonna take a breather. A little beat from that last one, gonna gnaw on something to get some energy. If you wanna smoke or somethin’,” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, nodding. She sat and propped herself up at a nearby tree, and he leaned against the one across from her, only a few feet off. She ripped open a pack of Blamco’s and munched on it, making a point not to look at him at first.

His movements were almost robotic, they were so well trained. Slide out the cig from his front pocket to rest gently in his lips, the zippo lighter from his trousers. He flicked it open with one swift move and raised it to his mouth, cupping against any daring breeze until the tobacco lit with a satisfying glow. He shoved the lighter back into his pocket and took a deep drag.

That feeling, again. Not lifting his head, he raised his eyes to find her watching his movements. He smirked.

“Can’t help staring, huh?” He chided, shaking his head. He took the cigarette out, leaning his head back to blow the smoke away, looking back down at her. She finally averted her gaze, a slight tint to her cheeks, and kept eating.

-

They’d stopped at a settlement, where they’d started a hotel of sorts. The woman gave them the key to their room, and they trudged up the stairs. Hallelujah, they thought, when they saw the two beds - many just had one, and Hancock was tired of sleeping on floors.

After they’d eaten, they were winding down - the dweller cross legged on her bed, Hancock in the bathroom cleaning up. His outfit was draped over his bed’s railing, minus his pants of course, which hung a little loosely around his hips. All this travelling made him skinnier, and that made him nervous.

He stepped over to his coat, ignoring her as he reached in the pockets until his found his Jet inhaler. He just wanted enough to soothe him, he didn’t need to get high - just take the edge off for a rare night in. He stepped back into the bathroom, watched himself take a hit, watched the smoke trail up, up, into the vents. 

Satisfied, Hancock padded out and over to his own bed, laying onto his back. Every once in a while he’d take a hit, inhaling slowly, holding his breath, exhaling even slower. He let his tongue curl around the smoke, let his lips feel each tendril of cloud.

Finally, he sighed, unable to take the crawling feeling of his skin anymore.

“That’s right,” he purred, and she knew it was to her. He didn’t even have to look at her to know - and his peripheral showed he was right, with her eyes on him. “Take it all in…” 

Maybe it was the chems, or the relaxation of being in a safe room, or just being half naked on a bed after finally washing the blood and grime off his body, but he was definitely feeling himself. He lounged a little more, the knee further from her propping up to frame himself, his hand rubbing gently up and down his chest. The hand closer to her lifted the Jet to his mouth to take another hit.

“That’s right…” He murmured again, more to himself. He heard her shift on the bed, but kept staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t until her knee pressed onto his bed, than the other, that his eyes trailed down to her. She licked her lips, considering, before she swung her leg over to straddle his hips. 

The hand trailing his chest followed all the way down until it slid up her thigh, resting at her hip. He placed the Jet on the side table, before his hand mirrored his other. She slithered up his body until they were face to face. 

For once, he was the one silent, just watching her with drugged contentment. Their breaths mingled for a beat, just taking each other in, until she closed the gap and kissed him.

It was lazy and comfortable, though possibly a little needy on her end. He obliged, sucking on her bottom lip and groaning softly into her mouth. It took him a second to realize she was grinding her hips against him, her hands clawed into the sheets next to his head. 

“Attagirl…” He purred, his hands stroking up her thighs. She trembled, a quiet ‘Hancock…’ dropping from her lips. In other situations, he would’ve felt like a fool - that he didn’t realize she’d been watching him with lust.

He brought one hand to her sex, fingers trailing lightly over the clothing there. She shook, bucking into his hand, hot and needy. Smirking into her mouth, he dragged his hand up to play at her hipbones before dipping into her waistband. His fingers found her clit, and she bucked again, whimpering. Her heat, her wetness, made him growl. He traced circles, slow, steady ones, fast, flickering ones. She was a sweating wreck in no time, fucking against his hand and moaning into his mouth. 

“Good girl, that’s right, that’s it,” he encouraged her, anytime she broke away from kissing him to beg and whimper. Suddenly she gasped, throwing her head back to moan his name loudly, shaking against his hand. Her hips stilled, but his hand didn’t - stroking her through orgasm.

When she finally came down, stilling against him, he stopped his ministrations, dragging his hand out of her pants. He pressed kisses up her neck, her jawline, catching her mouth. She heaved overtop of him, trying to recollect, and he eased her to lay beside him, spooning against her. 

“Y’know,” Hancock started, kissing down the back of her neck. “Next time, all ya gotta do is ask.”


End file.
